


Sesquipedalian

by GothamsGirl



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Ayerverse, Bondage, Dark, Drabbles, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, This is just an excuse to write smut tbh, big words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-08-07 13:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 4,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7717201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GothamsGirl/pseuds/GothamsGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sesquipedalian: (Adjective -  Formal): Given to or characterized by the use of long words. </p><p>..</p><p>A collection of Drabbles based off of smarty-pants words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sesquipedalian

It becomes a game for them. 

Joker likes that she's smart. That people take one look at her hair color and just assume she's a dumb blonde, it makes their games so much more fun, especially when she's listing off their different organs as she cuts them out. 

So Harley plays along, uses her phone at 4 in the morning to memorize some more big words to impress him with. It makes her heart swell with pride when his smile grows after she brings out her well-educated chit chat. 

It even makes her giggle, when a few words can make him hornier than if she just would of flashed him. She realizes deep down, it's because the high her Mistah J gets from seeing her, a once up and coming Doctor and would be best selling author, reduced to moaning and biting a pillow beneath him. 

After all, she is smart. Harley knows she's his biggest joke. It just doesn't bother her.


	2. Philodox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philodox: (Noun): A person with excessive interest in his own opinions. A person who loves to hear himself talk. 
> 
> (Set before Suicide Squad)

"That, pumpkin, is why we will be the ones that finally end the life of miserable old Batman." 

Harley claps, sitting obediently on the large red velvet couch that completes their makeshift hideout living room. Her hair, pink and blue pigtails, bounces as she applauds his speech. Joker's sinister smile widens as she leans back, kicking her legs up in the air and says, "Awe Puddin', you're such a great speaker. If we weren't in on this killin' business I betcha could be a real famous life coach." 

"I tend to favor ruining lives instead of improving them, Harley."

"You improved mine Mistah J." She sighs happily, pulling at the white tee shirt she wears, the only one currently not stained with any blood. 

"Did I now?" He says, mischief in his eyes as he walks up to her, shirtless and he loves to watch her baby blue's follow the path of the v going down into his black sweatpants. 

"Yes sir," Harley replies, biting her lip and sitting up straighter, her makeup is off but it doesn't make her any less beautiful, staring up at him under naturally full eyelashes. She puts her hands on her knees, digs her short nails into the skin there and seductively tells him, "I just love listening to you talk, Puddin'."

He knows this of course, how does he not notice her thighs squeezing together when he's rambling on about murder and theft and burning homes to the ground. His little minx, always adoring and never bored of him. 

It sparks the idea in him then, the way she's licking her lips like that and how perfectly her face is right at level with his crotch. 

So he starts talking. 

"Harley, I was thinking of a new plan. A new scheme to dig our claws of insanity into batsy. Do you want to hear about it?" Of course she does. Harley never says no and he won't tell her its almost to a fault how much little self preservation she has in that twisted little mind. 

"Yes Mistah-"

"Shush…" He taps her pouting lips with a finger, pushing pasted them and feeling his cock twitch as she sucks on the digit like a good little girl. "We can't have you interrupting daddy now, can we?"

Harley hums around his finger, already catching onto the theme for tonight. 

"Good little girl." He pets her hair, watching as her head leans toward his hand, "We'll just have to keep that little mouth busy then." 

He hears and feels her moan before pulling his hands away and shoving the sweatpants down just far enough to pull his semi-hard Dick out. 

Harley, for all the things she's done wrong while working by his side, is a master at blowjobs. From the way she grabs it like a kid going for a lollipop to her long, drawn out teasing licks, Joked breathes in deeply as she starts working him over. 

"The plan is most likely to be the biggest break on the bat yet, I don't know, it could stop his do good days for good if we hit the right nerves," Joker twirls her hair in his hands, admiring when she chokes on him and drops her hands, letting her thrust his hips into her mouth, "What does the Batman care about is the question. What Exactly is his weakness. Well Harley, I have found the exact thing to ruin him in the most fun way possible." 

She moans, eyes wide as she looks up so submissively at him towering over her seated position.

"Robin, the Boy Wonder. Batman's one sidekick, only a boy but already fighting for his city along side the Dark Knight. Inspiring isn't it?" he chokes on his words a bit, trying to let her breathe a bit, it wouldn't do for her to pass out when he's getting close. 

"Killing Batman himself wouldn't be enough, no. It would end the joke, it would end the timeless game of cat and mouse. No, Harley you see there is one thing we can do in this game, to keep our opponent on their toes. Keep them guessing." 

He feels his orgasm approach as she reaches down and pushes her own shorts aside, moaning around his dick like a slut. Perfect. 

"We can kill the one closest to him. We can make him suffer grief and mourning. We can break- " He growls, thrusting himself down her warm throat, "We can break the Bat's psyche. "   
His manically laughter bounces off the wall as he watches her swallow his cum as he pats the top of her head like a dog, "Now Harley, go clean yourself up, we've got a Robin to kill."


	3. Colpocoquette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Colpocoquette: (noun): A woman with a large and/or attractive bosom that is aware of it and uses its allure.

Harley knows her "assets" are quite good. 

The girls, even though she doesn't like to admit it, helped get her through college, and again helped her get that first therapy session with her Puddin. 

It also helps her get attention from him now, distracting him away from business or plans for city wide death counts. The Joker isn't a normal man, but he is in fact, a man in the bitter end. 

So when Harley skips into his office, buried deep in the warehouse basement, wearing only a pair of sparkle blue booty shorts and a lacy black push-up bra, it does offend her that he glances up and then looks away again, toxic green hair messy and almost glowing in the bright light hanging above his metal desk covered in papers and throwaway phones.

"Mistah J~" The blonde tries in a sing-song tone, her blue and pink hair out of its pigtails and curled the way he likes her to wear it at his clubs. 

She huffs in annoyance when he doesn't even look up this time, "Puddin' you've been busy all day, come play with me." 

Joker looks up, eyes showing the anger he doesn't try to cover up when he tells her, "Go away Harley, daddy's busy." 

Harley looks down at her chest. Irritated he isn't paying attention to her after she shoved herself into the tightest bra she has to make her tits spill over the top slightly. 

Stupid girl, one of those voices in her head scold her, falling in love with the only man resistant to your body. 

Another one nags at the back of her mind that she should just keep bothering him, and another yells at that one for suggesting such a thing, does it want her to get beat tonight? 

The voices continuing arguing with each other until Harley's face turns red in anger and she yells, "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up shut up shut-"

Joker sighs, pushing up his shirt sleeves until they are at his elbows, "Honestly Harls, do you have to fight with them in here? Can't you go somewhere else?" 

Harley stalks up to him, unceremoniously dropping in his lap and running her fingers over his facial tattoos, she mouths the word damaged as she touches it, pushing her chest up and toward his face. 

"Harley," The clown growls, "What do you think you're doing?" 

She chews on her cherry red bottom lip, "I just wanna play daddy." Harley places a hand on both sides of his face, stroking over his cheekbones as she lovingly looks down at him from her place in his lap. "Come on Mistah J, don't you wanna rev up your Harley?" 

His smile grows, silver teeth and all with red lips spread wide. Harley giggles when he shoves his pale face into her chest, blowing raspberries on her breasts. Tugging on his hair she excitedly shouts,

"Vroom Vroom!"


	4. Lethonomia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lethonomia: 1. A tendency to forget names. 2. The inability to recall the right name.

"And make sure to have…" The clown pauses, rubbing the damaged tattoo on his forehead before snapping his fingers at Harley, "What's the one's name? With the red hair and neck mole?" 

Harley sits at her vanity, smacks her lips together and admires the cherry red color as she answers, "Lenny." 

"Yes. Make sure Lenny brings the car around the back of the bank. And…" 

The blonde smirks to herself in the cracked mirror as she puts on a bit of eyeliner, "Paul and Oliver."

"Make sure they get all the money out within ten minutes." Joker laughs as his hands clasp over the woman's shoulders, thumbs pressing hard into the cotton of her daddy's little monster shirt. "Ready to go pumpkin?" 

"Mhm Mistah J, just let me grab my bat." 

Harley skips into their walk-in closet that somehow became more of a walk-in weapons closet and pushes aside a few boxes of explosives to reach her beloved wooden friend. 

"Harley!" She hears him call from the other room. She peeks her head out from the door, already knowing what he wants her for. 

"Patrick." She tells him before ducking back into the closet to shove some ammo down her bra. 

Harley can't help but giggle when she hears her Puddin' calling out to the henchmen outside, "Patrick get me my coat! And I swear that girl takes forever to get ready, not a help at all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter today. But I do like the idea of Harley having to remind him what to call the hired help.


	5. Schadenfreude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schadenfreude (noun): pleasure derived by someone from another person's misfortune.

The potted miniature rose plant, its clay base a shabby white color and flowers bright red, shatters on the floor like glass when it drops from his pale, cold hand.

Harley cries out, tries to catch it but ends up on her knees in the broken pot and soil pile. Her baby blue's water as she grips a bit of dirt in her hands, lifting it up just for the loose substance to fall through her fingers.

"Why did you-" She starts, the first tears falling but the blonde is cut off when her Puddin's open palm comes down hard on her left cheek, the quick smacking sound filling the warehouse as Harley lets her head fall, hoping the hair falling in front of her face covers the fresh tear streaks running down the now stinging red skin.

"I told you," J says slowly, his cane in one head as the other, the one that hit her, now gently caresses his pet's head in her place by his feet, "You aren't allowed to talk to that house plant anymore. And what did you do?"

Harley knows better than to lie, "I had lunch with her."

Joker grins at the guilty tone of her normally cheerful voice and draws out, "You've made daddy, very _very_ mad."

"I'm sorry." She pleads, finally looking up to him and taking in that leering smile, the way it brings it the wrinkles around his eyes, dark black and menancing hinted with glee at her current situation, "I forgot."

"You certainly _forget_  a lot, don't you pumpkin?" J spits out the words like the acid she'd jumped into for him and stands up straighter. She shakes when the command comes out of his mouth from behind silver teeth, "Eat it."

"What?" She replies, confused.

"The dirt, you imbecile." His cane comes up and taps harshly against the side of her head, "Eat. It."

Harley grits her teeth and scoops up the dark soil in a pale hand, feels the soft texture and holds back a sob when the memory of planting the little bush with Ivy floods her mind. The cane whacks against her ear, making it ring and she rushes to shove the soil into her mouth.

Loud, piercing cackles come from J and she glances up, offering him a smile because if he's laughing she did something _right_ , she's a _good_ girl.

He only gets louder when Harley's red lips part into a dirty little, pathetic expression of happiness even with filth covering her chin and dropping down the front of her shirt. J pulls her up to a standing position, ignores it when she squeaks because the broken pot cuts into the soles of her feet.

"Did you learn your lesson?" He asks, brings her close enough she can see how dilated his pupils are, the bulge in his sweats pressing against her lower stomach.

"Yes daddy," still comes out even if her throat is dry, her eyes are leaking and nose is too stuffed to breathe.

He rewards (himself) her with a forceful kiss that leaves her dazed and weak in the knees, bleeding feet following her master into the bedroom.


	6. Callipygian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Callipygian (adjective) : having well-shaped buttocks.

His hair is slicked back, not an uncommon style especially during business like the meetings he'd been caught up in all day. His purple trench coat is buttoned up almost all the way when he ways into the hideout, black dress shirt just peeking out from underneath. Mouth lined with blood red lipstick, a colorful contrast to his ghostly skin and jet-black tattoos.

Harley sighs lovingly as he walks pass her, not bothering to greet her even as she follows him down the hall like a loyal puppy dog, trailing behind him as he enters his office. Sitting at the massive dark stained oak desk with blueprints scattered across the top, his eyes just barely catch a glance of Harley situating herself in one of the leather accent chairs by the door, across the room but close enough he can see the rise and fall of her chest.

It's distracting.

His eye twitches when she shifts, dressed in only one of his white shirts and red panties that oh so subtlety can be seen hugging her bottom.

"Can you not?" J asks, slightly pissed because he needs to plan this flying rodent trap for Halloween and she's not helping sitting there looking so...

"What?" Harley tilts her head (always like a puppy with that one) as she plays with one of the cracked smartphones he always has laying around, always having her installing candy crush on them.

He stares at her pointedly, drags his eyes away before she gets any ideas in that empty head before ordering, "Organize the books, pumpkin."

She nods, he can see it out of the corner of his eye. Can also see when she trots over to the bookcase and reaches up, pulling old papers down and reading briefly out of them. Her hair's pulled up in a half-bun sort of style, lazy.

He bites the cap off his pen when she bends down, hoisting that ass in the sky as her shirt drifts down to reveal it fully.

"That's it." He shoves away from the desk, shoots out of his chair and is across the room before the blonde can turn to face him, "Bedroom. Now."

Harley giggles when one of his hands grip her butt, squeezing it hard as he tries to lift her but instead gets pushed slightly. His eyes meet hers, angry at the rejection but she tries to smile and lift his mood, "I can't Puddin."

"What do you mean?" He spits out, wrapping out hand around her neck as the other stays firmly planted on her ass, not tight enough to choke her but hard enough to watch the flicker of unconscious fear flash across those blue orbs as she tells him,

"I'm on my period, Mistah J."

He growls, drops Harley like she's burned him somehow. "Stupid women," J grumbles, stalking off toward the door.

"Where ya goin'?" She starts to follow but stops when he yells back,

"To take care of myself."


	7. Nudiustertian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nudiustertian: Adjective: Of or relating to the day before yesterday.

The day before yesterday he gave her roses.

Yesterday he gave her bruises. Those shaped like his knuckles and fingertips, splattered across her pale skin like paint onto canvas. They're sore as she wakes, in their bed.

He gave her a tennis bracelet. With diamonds and rubies. He called her his queen and promised whatever she desired for was his command.

Today she remembers him snapping the jewelry in half, throwing it on the floor next to her as she nurses a cracked rib, the words coming out of his red lips like venom from a snake, "I'll never love you."

The day before yesterday the tests read positive.

Today they sit on the bathroom sink as she stares at herself in the mirror, unmoved by the dried blood coating the inside of her legs, or the blooming black and blue of her stomach.

The day before yesterday, she was happy.

Right now, she is not.

She smiles anyway, for him. Because she loves him more than the moon loves the stars, more than the earth loves the sun, more than Juliet loved Romeo. She'd die for him, she'd live on this God-forsaken world for her beloved. The bruises are marks of loyalty. Her blood, a sacrifice to the gods in honor of him, bled from the heart that beats every second,

Just. For. Him.

The day before yesterday, Harley loved him.

Today, with her broken skin and spirit,

She loves him just the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates for my cupcakes :-)


	8. Verisimilitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Verisimilitude: noun: The appearance of being true or real.

Everything that comes out of his mouth is a lie, a twist, a falsehood that comes on the back of a smile and metal teeth. Harleen hadn't known that, but Harley did. She sees the way his black eyes light up with delight as he spins the truth, something akin to amusement and excitement showing in their charcoal pools. 

"Puddin," She will say quietly, as they stand dressed to the nines on top of a Gotham rooftop, her frame pressed against his and her fingers toying with the bow tie around his neck, "Do ya love me?"

"No," There is no glint in his face, nothing sort of reminiscence of J's take on lying. Her lips turn up anyway, only a little disappointed by the lack of reaction. 

Her hair is wet with rain water, and there's a cut from a batarang on Mistah J's forehead. Harley runs her thumb over the injury and questions, "Do ya love the Bat, Puddin?"

J's eyes shift, to her and then back to the city buildings that spread out in front of them. His face is impassive as ever, but she is a therapist, Harleen notices the way his non existent eyebrows raise slowly. The grin that barely reaches his eyes as they gain that mischievous, oh so well known gleaming there as he replies, "Nah."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the shortest one? Isn't it?


	9. Perfidiousness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perfidiousness: Adjective: deliberately faithless; treacherous; deceitful.

He promised her the _world_.

Promised her his love, his devotion in exchange for her's and she willfully accepted that offer. Vowed to live for him, swore to die for him, let her old self fall into that pool of bubbling chemicals and get eaten away like an old dead skin.

He _lied_. She _trusted_ him.

Harley feels the gun heavy, heavier than ever before in her hand as it presses against the mad man's forehead. He's sleeping. Such a heavy sleeper. The blonde's other hand haphazardly wipes the wet sticky tears from her face, staring down at J and her finger shaking on the trigger.

The dream was bad. Bad as ever. Memories of her family during Thanksgiving, of college and Med school. She'd woken up in a cold sweat and found the gun, frantic in her realization of all that was taken, all that was stolen from her former promising self.

Harleen, the ghost of a voice inside her head, urges her to end the clown. Kill him in his sleep. The other voices are screaming at her not to, a chorus of panic going on in her brain.

He snores, loud and obnoxious.

She steadies her hand. Feels the guilt build up but Harleen begs, reminds the girl of a time when she did not carry bruises like war paint and her body was her own to do with as she pleased. A time before old warehouses, before fighting a man dressed as a bat.

She pulls the trigger.

Harley's sob drowns out the _click_  of an empty clip. The gun falling to the bedside as she reaches forward and jumps onto J's sleeping form.

"I'msorry, I'm so sorry." She wails in that Brooklyn accent, feeling him wake up as her arms tighten around his neck, "I didn't mean it I'm sorry-"

"Get off of me." J pushes, hard enough to flip her to her side of the mattress, ignoring her tears and growling, "I'm trying to get my beauty sleep."

"I'm sorry." She keeps babbling, the realization that she almost killed her Puddin, almost painted the walls with his blood so overwhelming that she can't take it.

In her grief, another cry of agony is overlooked. Freedom so close within reach, unattainable. She doesn't know if she's crying because the gun was empty or because of the action she took, but either way. She spends the next month taking sleeping pills to chase away the dreams.

The holidays are always a bad time.


	10. Osculator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Osculator: Noun: Someone who kisses.

Harley certainly doesn't understand his boundaries, with her lips tracing up and down his stomach like she's mapping the stars with that mouth. He stares at her, vaguely bored, watching how unreasonably happy such a simple action makes her.

Her hips rock against his thigh as she interlocks their mouths like puzzle pieces, hands holding onto his arms, cherry lipgloss smearing along his bottom lip.

J never returns it. Doesn't get anything from such a small interaction (sure, its nice having a woman that can't keep her mouth off of you, but Joker tells himself he is so _not_ effected by it), mostly he allows it to please her. After a rough fight he'll pull Harley, bruises and cuts and blood covering her skin, onto his lap and let her kiss him until she falls asleep.

Sometimes, not always, but if he holds out long enough she'll actually come because of it, and that's just hiliarious.

There's the other kisses too. A peck in the kitchen as he walks in on her making toast and honey, so quick J can't shove her away and so domesticated it makes his hunger for bacon and eggs drain away like bath water down the drain.

So when they stop. He definitely notices.

"Harley," He asks out loud, across the table as they eat pizza with pineapple and pepperoni on it, "Are you feeling ok?"

"Yup," She answers, eyebrows drawn together in confusion, a little tomato sauce in the corner of her mouth, "Why do ya ask Puddin'?"

"You haven't been..." He pauses, stares down at his food and tries to figure exactly how to word it, "You haven't been as touchy lately."

"Oh," The blonde quietly says, her hair piled atop her head in a messy bun and the soft red sweater she wears falling off one shoulder. She smirks a little, and he feels her foot trailing up his leg under the table, "Are ya missin' something Mistah J?"

He growls when it lands on his crotch and kicks out, satisfied when the sock covered thing is pulled away and her face falls, "Don't be stupid Harls, I didn't mean that."

"What did ya mean then?" She questions, obviously feeling rejected as she pokes at the pizza in front of her.

"You use to be so," J struggles for the word, tries to thing of a way to state it without her immediately taking it as some sort of loving statement. (All he needs in for her to start thinking he actually cares about her. Ha, what a joke.) So he idiotically decides on a firm,

"Why the fuck did you stop with the kisses?"

Her face after that is simply shock, blue eyes wide as if she'd seen a ghost. She nervously tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before studdering out, "I-I didn't think ya liked it Puddin'."

"I _don't_ ," He confirms, "But you do."

"Yeah but, if you don't wanna..." Harley trails off, biting her lip, "I just want ya to be happy."

J glares at her, a mixture of displeasing and his general angry resting face, when he doesn't say anything for a moment she offers,

"Should I start doin' it again J?"

"Well, duh."

It's that night as she plans little smooches against his chest he figures out why its so important to him. Her lips lifting into a soft grin as she does it is eerily similar to the one she'd given him as his doctor in Arkham, in the dark interview room.

After all, he always loved her _smile_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you could tell this chapter kinda sucks but that's ok because the next three are smut


	11. Dishabillophobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dishabillophobia: Noun: the fear of undressing or undressing in front of someone.

She was a bit anxious at first.

Afterall, they'd been talking to each other in a cramped room for months. And Harley really, really loves him, but as she sits in the bathroom with the sink running, she can't help but chew her bottom lip as the nerves wash over her.

The sink is covered in facepaint and old bloody cloths (Harley decides that she'll have to clean up, with how messy this place is), with a single toothbrush and bottle of hair gel. Her skin still tingles from the chemical bath earlier, even if she'd washed all the thick, cream like liquid off her body.

_Stop worrying,_ she tries to tell herself. Running a hand through her now platinum, bleached blonde hair she tries to quiet her raging heart beat, It's just sex.

Sex with _him_.

Does she really want this? Going off the way her lower body is buzzing with anticipation it'll be a yes. The golden door handle turns, just slightly, and she hears him ask from the other side.

"Are you done yet?"

Its not nice, but its not mean either. There is no venom in his words beside the natural fear inducing tone. Harley steadies herself and turns off the sink, trying to muster up a smile the girl opens the door.

He's staring down at her (so much taller) with no shirt on. Her eyes trail down the scars on his chest, to the trail of hair leading into the low riding sweatpants he wears. She gulps.

"What's wrong?" He giggles, unsettling but she's so use to it doesn't phase her, "Cat got your tongue?"

"No," Harley states, letting him lead her toward the bed. Her mind is going a million miles a second, visions of not-so-innocent images flashing through her thought process.

Then he starts stripping her.

"No!" She kicks off, away from him slightly and tries not to flinch at the glare he's giving her. Harley looks at her shorts, half way down to her knees. She considers lying to him, but J always knows her secrets anyway.

"I'm scared." She admits, all watery eyes and blushing cheeks.

"What of?" He inquiries, a smile (she doesn't know if he's trying to comfort or scare her, but looking back it was most likely the latter) that takes her breathe away.

You, her mind immediately offers. She's smart enough not to say it out loud though, "What if ya don't like how I look?"

"Oh Pumpkin," he reaches up, pokes the tip of her nose with his fingertip almost patronizingly so, "Do you really think I care what you think?"

Her eyes go wide, the hurt balling up in her stomach like a white, hot ball of shame curling into her gut, "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to worry," J says, pulling at the bottom of her shirt, "Because _this_ , all this is mine. Mine, mine," the blue fabric is tossed away and he grins at her plain white bra, the way it holds everything just right, " _Mine_."

Harley sucks in a breath as his bony fingers crawl down her sides and tug off her shorts and panties in one swift motion, "And I'll make you,"

His fingers trace above her clit, hand spreading over that space, imagination creating all the amazing, wonderful ways to mark this girl as his own,

" _Beautiful_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so gay I can't even write straight sex.


	12. Boondogggle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boondoggle: Work of little to no value done only to seem busy.

He's in his office again, and Harley is _bored_.

Like, really bored. She's dusted, washed the dishes, cleaned up the grey brain matter stuck in the cracks of the floorboards, wiped the windows…

J still hasn't come out.

Her hair tied up into a messy bun and feather duster hanging from her fingers, she sighs loudly. Looking over to where Frost is standing, eating strawberry jello from a plastic cup.

"What?" He defensively asks, immediately recognizes that a bored Harley is never a good thing. God, didn't she have that hot plant chick to go take her pent up energy out on? Except she's here, stalking toward him and the words tumble out of her mouth quicker than he can leave and hope she finds a hobby, or _something_.

"I need you to do me a favor, frosty."

..

"HARLEY!"

As J steps out of his office and into the main room he frowns deeply, observing the bloody handprints that line the walls, a bucket of soapy, crimson tinted water resting off to the side and his toy kneeling in the center, her hands gloved with rubbermaid and a wide grin on her face.

"What happened?" He demands, watching her hands stroke up and down her baseball bat as she wipes the blood and bone away from it.

"Just spring cleaning, Puddin'."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically Harley kills people just so she has to clean up and have something to do. QUEEN

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. If you liked it, please leave a comment, it really motivates me to write more if you guys show your support! This drabble was relatively short, but the future ones are planned to be longer.


End file.
